


No Use Empathising With Wolves

by klip



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Hostage Situations, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Secret Relationship, Survival, Violence, light gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klip/pseuds/klip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An awkward meeting between two team members that quickly escalates into something neither is prepared for- but there's no turning back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taunt

"YOU FAILED."

The announcers voice thundered in his headphones at a brutal volume, the dreaded two words that every team member recoiled at the sound of. His pistol made a dull snapping sound, and he knew it had been automatically disabled, along with the rest of his weaponry. Fortunately for the Blue Scout, he had found himself distanced from the frenzied blood-bath that was now occurring on ground level as the Red Team sought out his fellow survivors. Not intentionally, of course, it wasn't like him to go into hiding until after all hope was lost, but here he was on the top level of the barracks and not a person in sight. He threw the pistol to the ground with his usual aggressive zeal and pressed himself into the corner of the room, watching the staircase anxiously, preparing himself for when a Red member would come up in search of vengeful relief.

Footsteps. His spine tingled with bottled-up energy and his muscles spasmed. His fighting spirit was still aflame, and he readied his pitiful fists for combat.

A barmah hat appeared, followed by the rest of the Red Sniper. 

Scout made sure the man had noticed him before making his presence undeniable, "yeah, come on then! Fuckin' asshole!" He bellowed, seeing the blade readied in the Snipers hand.

The Sniper observed for a moment, the boy almost bouncing from one foot to the other, bound fists clenched and readied. The knife hung loosely in his grip- it was embarrassingly easy. He had never been one to get excited over the bloodied hysteria at the end of each successful match, par from the occasional headshot when opportunity came at a distance. A quick death, perhaps a little more dignified than if Pyro had got to them first.

"Jus' do it, already!" Scout spat, the suspense almost as painful as what the blade was going to bring to him.

Sniper snorted, a slight smirk cracking across his face, before he idly thrust the knife back into its sheath. There was a few more minutes left before the match was to be called off completely and his weapons would too be locked and unusable, the remaining Blue survivors would then have the opportunity to retreat back to camp. A Scout wasn't worth much, certainly no trophy hostage to bring back to base. Sniper threw his hand casually towards the Scout, "you're alright, mate." And turned his back to the boy, cascading back down the stairs and headed to camp.

Scout stood frozen on the spot, hands still readied in front of him. A look of perplexity wiped across his face. 'What the fuck was that?' He frowned to himself. The departing footsteps disappeared into the din of gunshots and shouting and he was once again alone in the room. Had he just been saved? Or had the Sniper considered him 'not worth the effort?' His frown deepened as a shot of fury spread across him.

"Jesus fuckin' christ…" he mumbled, lowering his fists and releasing them.

Outside, everything was quietening as the killing spree ended, and a sudden spiteful voice bellowed into his ears, "RETURN TO BASE."

It wasn't often Scout had survived long enough to hear those words. But by no means was it a relief to hear them. Feeling utterly defeated, he made his way back across the barren battlefield. No team members in sight.

 

 

3 days passed before the next battle was announced. It was afternoon, but the sun was still searing in the sky; he couldn't feel it though, the base was dark and chilled, lined with its clinical blue walls that seemed to cool the whole place down with it's colour alone. The game was King of the Hill, one of Scout's more dreaded missions, but nonetheless he was raring to go like a greyhound in its trap.

"MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS"

"Do try to keel more zan one enemy at a time today, mon cher," the slick voice said next him, teasingly.

Scout glanced up to be sure the insult had been aimed at him, before releasing the retaliation that all-too-naturally was formed and ready on his tounge.

"Oh, this comin' from the douchebag who don't even got the balls to show his face when he knifes a guy in the back?" He sized himself up against the Spy, which was futile, really, as he was considerably shorter.

"On ze contrary, at least I can keel a man without 'aving to fire every bullet in ze process," came the swift response between inhalations of cigarette smoke, less playful now.

"You got some fuckin' nerve-"

"Children!" Came the Medic's voice, "try not to destroy each o'zer before the match haz even begun."

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE…"

The gates were opened with a thunderous clang and the team launched into action. Scout, of course, up front- making sure to shove into the Spy on the way past. An explosion of noise surrounded him as he ran, and moments later he was engulfed in the chaos of battle.

 

Chunks of concrete kicked-up around him as bullets hammered around his feet. Scout dove behind a wall and checked his ammo- shit, barely a handful of bullets left in his pistol and his scattergun was completely dry. He had foolishly made a point of not returning to base to resupply for the sake of proving himself to the Spy, but since starting hadn't come across an ammo pickup once. There was barely enough time to curse himself before a Red Demoman appeared and began launching grenades in his direction. Scout leapt into action and fired what was left in defence, before resorting to his bat. Infuriated, he made a swing at the Red team member, and struck the wooden stick hard across the Demoman's shoulder. The man shouted in pain, and Scout took the opportunity to bludgeon another swing at the head- but it was caught. With incredible force that brought Scout tumbling down from his murderous delirium, the Demoman gripped the end of the baseball bat and threw it to the floor- before raising his grenade launcher directly in Scout's face. The trigger was pulled and immediately Scout ran, narrowly missing as a bomb flew past his head. Running like a madman, he HAD to replenish his ammo.

Bullet's zipped past his ears and debris scattered everywhere as he bolted flat-out across the battlefield in search of a small wooden box. He passed several Red members on his way, who all barely had time to recognise Scout's colour before he was gone again. Before long he was well and truly in the realms of the Red base.

A slim ladder was spotted to the far left, leading discretely into a much higher compartment structure. Scout seized the opportunity- there must be ammo up there, it was so fucking secluded- and made a dash to the ladder. He climbed as fast as he could manage; the bullet's had stopped hammering around him, he was so far from the centre that he was sure nobody could see him. He reached the upper level and sure enough, no ammo pickups. But there was another ladder leading even higher, and Scout- exasperated- climbed that one too. This one lead to a trapdoor, and there was a moments hesitation before he gently lifted it.

He had barely peeked out of the opening when he was staring directly into the barrel of a rifle.

"Whoa, hey, wait!" Scout hollered, as a large boot kicked open the trapdoor from above and it swung down against the concrete floor with a thunderous bang. "No, see look! I'm not armed! Don't…" He thrust his bandaged hands into the air, almost falling from the ladder as he did so.

It took a few moments, but Scout realised that the rifle belonged to the same Red Sniper as from the previous battle.

"Come on, man, I was just looking for ammo…" he continued, his body completely stiff in preparation for the bullet to be fired.

The rifle was slowly raised and the Sniper drew it back completely, donning a melee knife instead. "You're the kid from before," the Sniper observed, holding the blade out as Scout cautiously climbed the rest of the way into the small room.

The room was much like a cows-nest, compact and wooden with a tin roof. A single, thin window had been crudely made in the wall. All around the edges of the room were boxes of aid and other insignificant objects.

"Yeah," Scout responded, anxiously climbing to his feet and closing the trapdoor before he could see himself being thrown back down it. There was a long, almost awkward pause. The blade was still raised but not in an overly offensive fashion, just held there, threateningly. The silence was broken as a bullet flew through the window and resounded off an empty mug that shattered across the floor. The Red Sniper broke into action and scrambled hurriedly onto the floor next to the opening, lifting his rifle to his face.

"Sit the fuck down," he shouted, throwing a stern look to Scout before aligning his eye up to the telescope and going completely still.

Somewhat taken-back by the ridiculous order, Scout fell into a squat almost automatically, surprising himself with his obedience. The Sniper shot from his rifle, and a loud cracking explosion filled the small wooden room- he reloaded almost as fast as the bullet had emptied the barrel and shot another. He must've hit his target because the Sniper's shoulders lowered from his ears and he leaned back slightly, dropping the rifle to rest the barrel on the window ledge and looking at Scout through yellow-tinted aviators.

Entirely lost in the situation, Scout had to remind himself whose base he was in. "We're losing, aint we?" He said, more of a statement than a question.

"Not half," The Sniper exhaled with a hint of a smirk, looking back out the window, "s'far as I'm aware the score is 8-1 to us."

"Well shit…"

"Got that right, boyo."

Another silence. They were becoming increasingly painful as lack of conversation left to plenty of opportunity to make the kill.

"Mind if… y'know… I wade out the last part up 'ere?" Scout realised he was allowing himself to trust the other team member far too much. One act of 'kindness' was no reason to believe that the man was a saint. But it had been the only string of words he could conjure at that moment.

Sniper leaned back into position at the window, turning away from Scout and raising the rifle back to his sunglasses. "If you like," he said, "but no bloody earbashin' or funny shit."

Scout took a moment to ponder what was meant by 'earbashin'. Or implied by 'funny shit', for that matter.

"Whatever…" He sat himself down on a crate behind the Sniper.

Another explosion erupted from the rifle and Scout wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was sitting and watching as the man in front picked off his team members like fish in a barrel. He could easily make a move- grab that screwdriver by his feet, thrust it into the Sniper's back. It wouldn't kill but then perhaps he could make a move for the machete attached to his belt- the Sniper surely wouldn't have time to react.

"Um.. hey, thanks for the other day, y'know?" Scout piped up, breaking the 'rules', so to speak, in just minutes of them being informed. He glared down at his own feet sheepishly.

"Don't thank me," Sniper responded with a chuckle, "you jus' looked so bloody pathetic standing there I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Gratuity was replaced with rage and Scout scowled, lifting one foot and kicking it into the Sniper's back, "fuckin' asstard" He growled. It was meant in Scout's usual aggressive concept of 'jest'- a concept that only really he was fully understanding of and was generally tolerated by teammates. The Red Sniper, however, was no teammate.

Almost as soon as his shoe made contact with the man in front of him did the rifle swing round and steady directly at the boy's face.

"That kind of shit's what's gonna make me put a bullet directly between yer eyes," Sniper leered with teeth bare, evidently not as sporting of Scout's larking as his own kind- which was to be fairly expected.

"Alright, alright," He defended, raising his hands again and ducking away from the eye of the barrel.

"Jus' bleedin' aggro…" the sniper mumbled, barely audibly, as he turned back on his perch to face the window once more.

Silence continued throughout for a good 20 minutes, broken only occasionally by the cracking of the rifle. Horrendous at sitting still, Scout repositioned a number of times. Picking objects up and fiddling with them, before throwing them aside leisurely whilst continuously sighing and groaning. He wondered whether it would be worth making a bolt for the trap door. Although, in all fairness, that decision would only land him in more trouble when he reached the ground floor again; ammo-less. The sniper hardly moved, except sometimes to glance back to check the boy wasn't fashioning some sort of weapon out of bent nails and shattered mug pieces.

'Hostage'-situation or not, Scout couldn't bare the inactivity any longer.

"Hey, gimme a go widda' rifle," he suggested, leaning forwards expectedly, the absolute absurdity of the request lost on him.

Sniper slowly turned to look at him with an almost comical fluidity, an eyebrow cocked as if to say 'you must be joking'. However, he wasn't dismissing the demand, and seemed to even be pondering it. He breathed out a slight laugh before turning his body entirely to face Scout. "Alright then." He extended his arm testingly and handed Scout the heavy weapon.

Scout marvelled at the naivety of the man's decision, little did he know that Sniper was fully confident in the fact that the Scout would be too inept with the entirely unfamiliar firearm to be deemed even the remotest bit threatening. Besides, he needed the amusement to distract himself from the utterly unchallenging mission.

He took the gun into his arms and almost bounced to his feet, rotating and turning it in his grip to get a good look, all while smiling broadly.

"Yeah but get low," Sniper hissed, shifting off his seat to let the boy take his place. He removed the submachine gun from pocket and placed it by his knee, just to be safe.

"Oh man, our Sniper's never let me hold his rifle before," Scout said gleefully, perching himself on the box by the window. The seat was still incredibly warm. He dramatically leaned forwards until he was almost falling off the front of the crate, holding the scope up to his eye as he peered out onto the battlefield below.

Sniper shifted until he was directly behind Scout, "the stock should be in the pocket of your shoulder," he directed, placing a hand on Scout's right arm and adjusting it until he deemed it satisfactory. "And your cheek should be here…" he added, using one hand to direct Scout's head and the other, the gun, into position.

"Yeah whatever, man, I got this," Scout nudged the hands off him, and pretty much reverted back to the futile positioning he had started with.

"See if ya' can hit that busted sentry over there," Sniper said, pointing in a particular direction.

"What sentry?" Scout replied impassively, not taking his eyes away, and fired randomly after a Red member, missing so badly he might as well have been firing squarely at the wall. The recoil of the scope rammed into his face.

"Fuck!" Scout yelped, holding a hand to his eye and pushing the rifle away like it had bitten him.

Sniper laughed cruelly, leaning back on his haunches to allow Scout to slip off the crate and retreat back to the wall in pain. It was almost immediately that a scattering of bullets pelted the wooden room- dust and wood fragments flying everywhere. He snatched up the rifle once more and started firing out of the window.

"I think you just gave my fuckin' position away," he growled, firing some more. "Stand on that trapdoor, would ja'?"

Scout paused, the bullets being fired at the building had ceased now.

"Naw see, was your dumb decision to give me the gun, ya'know. You deal with it," he scoffed, leaning back against the wall, hands folded behind his head, a rather ridiculous red ring around his right eye.

"Get'yer bloody arse on that door, NOW."

The machete was out again, and that was all the convincing Scout needed to budge. He stood squarely on the door, wondering what would happen if the Heavy were to come crashing through it- would he go flying out the roof?

 

Twilight fell and the battle was still going. There hadn't been any more attempts to use the rifle, nor attacks on the crows-nest. Scout sat leisurely on the door, legs crossed and playing with his mic. Sniper hadn't shifted once. He appeared almost like taxidermy, unflinching from his position. A bitter cold crept over the desert land and he realised just how chilly it got when he wasn't running around like a man on fire. After all, he was dressed in a T-shirt. He curled into a ball and held his knees close to his chin. Sniper glanced over.

"C'mere," he said idly, motioning his head.

Scout gave him a wary glare, and crouching, cautiously made his way to where the Sniper sat.

With one hand continuously holding the rifle, the Sniper awkwardly removed his jacket.

"Hey man, I think I'm fine, it's alri-"

"Just put it on."

The jacket was thrust into Scout's chest and he held it out in front of him to get a better look at it. It was worn and damaged, and the material soft with age.

"What you gonna do next, lie it on a puddle for me to step over?" Scout grinned, threading his arms through and burying his hands into the pockets. The jacket was sleeveless but it certainly made a difference. It smelt strongly of cigarettes and gunpowder.

A gentle kick into Scout's leg was all it took to shut him up again.

He didn't return to the door, Scout just sat there at Snipers feet, not even able to see out of the tiny gap/window. It was warmer, pressed against the man's leg. He suddenly realised the machete was literally next to his ear. Tantalisingly close. All he needed was to make a grab for it and then that'd be it, over. A sniper's rifle was deadly but had no chance in such close proximities. His hands shook, and he tried to keep his cool. Was he really about to do this? After all, the man had been needlessly kind to him. But what was to happen when the match was over? Would he free him again? Perhaps killing the Sniper would be saving his own skin. The boy was almost vibrating with nerves. He could do it, it would take just seconds.

It seemed the decision couldn't wait any longer.

The celestial voice of the announcer came rattling through the speaker in the top corner of the room.

"MISSION ENDS IN 60 SECONDS."

His body seized up and almost without thinking he made a grab for the blade. He unsheathed it with incredible ease and leapt to his feet in time for the Sniper to respond. 

But he didn't. He just turned to look at Scout, hardly moving at all, his eyebrow arched sarcastically when he saw the knife shaking in Scout's hand.

The machete was heavy in his grip as he stood poised behind Sniper. It was deadly sharp, one strike was all it needed, really.

"Don't be stupid," Sniper stated, monotonously.

"You sound just like the fuckin' Spy."

"MISSION ENDS IN 30 SECONDS."

Sniper looked away from the boy and lifted his sunglasses up onto the rim of his hat with a weary demeanour. The rifle slid from his grip and he left it resting on the window's ledge as he slowly and achingly got to his feet.

Scout was still shaking, half from the cold, half from the nerves that were now tearing through him and fuelling his adrenaline. He took the blade into both hands, holding it out in front of him as he watched the Sniper rise and face him. The man took a step towards him, and Scout took a step back. It was almost as if Scout wasn't holding a huge fucking blade, and this pissed him off.

"MISSION ENDS IN 10 SECONDS."

Another step forwards, and another back. Scout soon found his back was pressed against the far wall, trying to keep his focus on the Sniper and not the location of his feet as he stumbled awkwardly over a tipped crate. The man got closer and closer, the darkness of the fading light was making it increasingly hard to see his face. A hand settled on his own, and gently pushed the knife away.

"Don't fuckin-" Scout started, but was interrupted.

Their mouths connected, and Scout felt a firm hand holding his shoulder against the wall. The kiss was solid and aggressive, violating, and he found himself struggling to breath as he tried to keep up with the movement of the intruding tongue. He let out a weak groan as Sniper's other hand pushed his cap back and ground their bodies together.

"5, 4…"

He let his eyes close as he abandoned himself to the onslaught, his own hand resting on the man's abdomen.

"3, 2, 1…"

It was only then that he realised the knife had been already removed from his clasp, and he felt the stinging blade being pressed just under his jaw. The messy kiss halted and Sniper inched back slightly, a sliver of light was able to enter the room, reflecting menacingly against in the corner of the Sniper's eyes and contouring his face with a diluted, blue tint. A malicious smirk broke across his face.

"VICTORY."


	2. Bite

"You wanna be a lil wanker, I'll be one back…" Sniper growled in a pitch so low that Scout swore he could feel the vibrations as the pointed edge dug further into his skin.

The biting metal was unbearable and Scout found his vision blurring with the pained tears forming in his eyes. Speaking was out of the question, any jaw movement whatsoever would certainly allow the blade to pierce his flesh.

 

He wasn't a vicious man, as hard as he tried to be. Violence certainly appealed to him, as it would to most. It was a kind of macabre curiosity, like a child pouring salt over a slug. He wanted to know what they felt, these men that killed so shamelessly. No qualms or judgement to worry about. The Scout got to experience it; my god, the boy lived for it. But the Sniper didn't have that privilege. No, he killed from the sidelines. Saved of any brutality or satisfaction. But that could change right now. He could slit the boy's throat, watch him squirm in pain. Perhaps then he could be contented.

Maybe the starvation for blood was more maddening than drowning in it.

 

"Don't…" Scout groaned through his teeth. His hands were still resting on the Sniper's belt. He swallowed tensely, mouth dry in anticipation. Never in his years of experiencing pain had he felt the bite of a blade across this jugular. Never had he experienced his throat sliced open, and the unknown was terrifying.

Sniper's heart was beating faster. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted from the boy; what he wanted to prove to himself. If he let him go, he was weak. If he killed him, like this, so _personally_ , would he even be able to look himself in the mirror afterwards? Would that satisfaction last? The boy had trusted him. But then again, he had trusted the boy.

At that moment, the trap door flew open.

The Red Demoman appeared in the opening, a blood-stained smashed bottle in his left hand. "Wehey," he bellowed intrusively, clambering to his feet behind the sniper, a malicious grin painted across his face, "thought you'd hide out up 'ere didya?"

Scout couldn't retaliate, the blade was still caressing his neck. His eyes flashed back to Sniper, staring at him with an imploring expression.

"I'm sure there's other Blu's runnin' rampant down there," Sniper suggested to the Scotsman, trying not to sound too possessive. He looked down at the smashed bottle, a small clump of flesh still attached to it. He cringed at the visual image of that crude object killing somebody.

"Nawh, Soldier's gone'n had 'em all," he muttered dismissively, leaning around the Sniper. He raising the bottle and poised it at the boy's stomach, pressing slow and firm. The scout let out a tortured groan. "Come on, lemme have this one, this little shit got away from me earlier but it's not about to happen again."

The shards pierced the fabric of his T-shirt and red began to contrast starkly against the blue of the material. Sniper scowled, the barbarity was too much for him.

"Let's take him back," he suggested snappily, suppressing the urge to push the larger man away from the scout.

"Wh- you serious?" The demoman frowned, attention turning to the Sniper. The bottle and machete remained pressed against the boy, static.

"Yeh, come on, been a while since we brought back any captives…"

Demoman seemed to ponder this for a moment, looking back at the Bostonian who's watery eyes had over-flooded, salty tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Why not," he smirked to himself in a tipsy haze, releasing the bottle and letting it fall to his side. "Medic needed a new test-subject anyway," he grinned cruelly to the boy, before making his way back down the ladder.

Sniper slowly released the blade's pressure, noticing a thin red line under the scout's jaw where it had been resting. Their eyes focused on one another, questioning.

Scout had, once again, no idea whether he had just been saved or not. He had landed himself in this situation twice now, except this time, with a much harsher outcome. So he was going to be the Red's captive. He had heard stories before, of the torture and torment. They occasionally held prisoners at his own base- normally Spies. A little ill-treatment was involved, an interrogation here and there, but they were never held more than a week. More often than not, they were released to return to their own barracks pretty much unscathed- parr from their dignity. It was used as a fear-tactic, mostly, or as a way of ransoming high-valued teammates such as Medics'.

With the knife poised against him at all time, he descended the ladder after Demoman.

"Not so mouthy now, are ye'," the Scotsman provoked, giving the scout a hard shove.

"Fuck you, man..." Scout snarled. The wound in his stomach was still bleeding, and he felt the muscles there spasming with every step. It was excruciating to say the least.

Suddenly, "hold up, why's he wearing' your jacket?" Demoman laughed bemusedly, grabbing Scout by the shoulder and yanking him around to face the Scotsman to get a better look.

Sniper, who had just finished climbing down the ladder himself, threw a glance to Scout and sure enough, he was still wearing his goddamn jacket. 

Shit.

Scout looked at him with eyebrows so high across his forehead they nearly reached his hairline, his face contorted with humoured expectancy. This certainly wasn't going to be an easy one for Sniper to worm out of.

There was a rolling moment of desperate silence, the bushman's mouth ajar as if summoning some miraculous excuse to come forth. Fortunately, one presented itself. "Left it in the room earlier. Came back up jus' now, found him hiding out in there with it on… little creepy if y'ask me," he snorted, hiding from Scout's accusing stare.

"Fuck that, man. That's'a low-blow," Scout shouted, enraged further to see the Sniper stifling a laugh.

The Demoman looked at Scout with a repelled grimace, "creepy, not half…" he snickered, shoving Scout onwards.

At least he bought it, Scout told himself, although he wasn't sure if the fib had saved him any embarrassment at all.

The battlefield was sparse of Blu bodies, most of which had made their way back to barracks or respawned already. Scout frowned. Surely they'd realise he was missing- but would they do anything about it? A scout was only a small loss, hardly a team member to sacrifice oneself or funds to try and save. He tried not to think about it.

 

* * *

 

"Well what in gods'name are we supposed to do with him?" The Soldier yelled, throwing an accusing finger in Scout's direction.

Sniper shrugged casually, "I dunno, Medic might wan'him?" He looked over to the Doctor who was disarming his medigun and placing it in his locker.

He turned. "Perhaps…" the german idly responded, walking over to Scout and looking him up and down as he removed his rubber gloves- he didn't look overly concerned one way or the other, to which Scout was somewhat grateful.

"Of all the team players to bring back, Sniper," Soldier continued scorning as he walked away from the situation and towards the staircase that led to the main barracks, "you bring this useless whelp."

"What's 'e gonna tell us if we interrogate 'im, the Major League scores?" The Red spy cocked a brow, rearranging his tie.

"Hey, fuck if I know those, man… don't get any sports channels," Scout chimed in, receiving a highly unimpressed glare from every Red in the room.

Soldier stopped at the doorway on the upper level and looked dismissively down at Sniper, "put him in the cells for now, we'll discuss this later." And left.

Sniper glanced to Scout, who seemed quite calm about the whole situation. A small, cocky smile was visible on his lips. In a way, Sniper was relieved, the last thing he wanted to deal with was a sobbing wreck; but he was also mildly vindictive of the boy's calm assurance. He took one of the younger man's shoulders in his hand and led him away from the base and towards the doors that exited onto the back courtyard.

"Sniper." An accented voice sounded behind them, Sniper stopped and turned.

The medic approached him gravely, eyes watching Scout inquisitively. He walked closer and closer, and Sniper almost took a step back. He stopped dead in front of the australian, casting a shadow over the slightly shorter man.

"I know what you are doing. You're making yourself very… obvious." He said with a slight sneer. "I suggest ze Ringer, but this is going to be on your own neck. Be quick about it, yes? Before it becomes obvious to ze rest of them as well." His frown deepened, and he threw one last concerned glance to the untroubled scout, before quietly retreating back indoors.

Rain began scattering on the dry ground and Sniper calmly removed his sunglasses, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his brow in vexation. "Fuck…" he groaned.

Scout, who remained as care-free about the situation as ever, was looking up at the sky. "Snipes, can we get movin'? Rain really messes with my headgear, yaknow?"

The man grabbed the boy by the collar of his T-shirt and yanked him to his own face so that their noses were almost touching. A low growl emitted from Sniper's throat as he tried to suppress the need to hurt the boy with his bare hands. "I've always considered myself a professional at my trade, and I like to think the rest of the team do as well. But now, thanks to you, my job's on the line. The least you can do for me is keep that god _damned_ ungrateful mouth of yours on a leash." His fingers were digging into the fabric so hard he was chaffing them.

Scout upheld an expression of utter bewilderment. He was used to this kind of treatment, even amongst his own team, but he was struggling to find any clue as to how any of this was down to him. He struggled free of the sniper's grip and realigned his cap into place. He didn't say anything, for once, but scowled at the australian resentfully.

There was a fairly small, cluttered outbuilding tucked away behind Sniper's van and they entered into it's darkness. The room contained a sole staircase that spiralled down into the gloom. Lighting fluorescent bulbs as they went, they arrived several metres below ground. It was very cold and damp, moths circled over-head, distressed by the sudden flickering illumination. Scout shivered as he marched behind Sniper, keeping his opinions to himself. They arrived at the end of the corridor, a thin layer of water sheeted the stone ground. Several, heavy doors lined the walls, and Sniper opened one with a pin-code. He gently pushed the thick metal door open, revealing a simplistic box of a cell. It contained nothing but a long bench at the back, and a drain in the far corner. A sliver of a window allowed a crack of dismal light to enter high above them. Scout felt himself recoil at the sight of this nightmarishly dismal room.

"In y'go," Sniper said tonelessly, nodding his head towards the open door.

Scout looked at him with as little emotion as he could muster, before walking into the darkness. He looked around briefly, taking the sight of his new accommodation in. This was much worse than the cells at his own base. Much, much worse. He pulled at the leather adorning his shoulders and shifted off the jacket. He held the article of clothing up to Sniper. "Here you are."

"…You'll need it," was all the sniper said, shutting the large door between them with a heavy clang. He gave it a sharp tug to ensure it was locked, and heard the satisfied click, before turning to leave.

"Sniper, wait," Scout exclaimed, finally breaking from his silent resistance. Trying to peer out of the tiny window that was embedded in the door, his vision entirely blocked by the angle. The man's footsteps hesitated for a moment, causing Scout's hopes to ignite at the notion that perhaps the man really _wasn't_ going to actually leave him in this godawful situation after all. That it was just a sick ruse. But the steps returned, leaving Scout alone in the cold shadows.

The boy remained pressed against the door, straining to see through the unforgiving excuse for a window. The footsteps became quieter and quieter, until he could no longer hear them. The frightening situation he was in began to dawn on Scout, and he clapped a hand to his mic. It was non-receptive. A panicked moan escaped his lips, and he sat himself down on the bench. He was used to dying, he experienced it several times a day. But what he couldn't handle was the torment of loneliness. Silence engulfed him, parr from the resounding hum of the rain outside. Water trickled down from the slender gap above him, tumbling gently down the wall and pooling around his feet. What had he gotten himself into? _This is what comes of trusting someone_ , he told himself dismally. Scout leant forwards onto his knees and placed his forehead into his palm, pressing his other cold hand against his bleeding stomach. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Ply

Scout wasn't the only one to get very little sleep that night. Sniper had always stood fast by his theory of 'having a plan to kill everyone you meet,' but in this case, that plan was non-existent. It bothered him more than it should have. As he sat there on the mattress of his upper-level hideaway, polishing the lens to his scope, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of dismay at his disreputable actions that day. Sure, the kid was captured and contained; but that wasn't the point. Something in him had changed that day, and it dawned on him that he was incriminating the boy on his behalf. And, as much as he had been trying to repress the memory, he had indeed kissed him. A knotting occurred in his stomach and he threw the gun down beside him wearily, before clapping his hands to his forehead. 'Why didn't I shoot 'im when he came up?' He muttered dismally to himself in frustration.

Morning came, eventually, and a bitter mist sheeted the desolate land outside in it's ghostly haze. Everything seemed to reflect a shade of blue, and as Sniper sat there with his back against the wall did he notice that even his own crimson clothing was displaying a blue-ish tint. He had barely slept at all, and only in the last few hours had drifted in and out of consciousness. He guessed by the darkness in the room that it was still very early, but he rose nonetheless and stretched his limbs. He hadn't resolved many of his issues at question that night, but there was one thing he was certain of. He'd get the job done, efficiently as possible. He'd come this far, it would only be professional to see it to the end. He nodded to himself definitively, and placed his slouch hat squarely on his head.

* * *

 

"Mornin', Sniper," The Engineer gave a gentle smile as he discovered the Australian descending into the Common Room. It wasn't often that Sniper was around the base in the mornings, as usually he slept in his van, but he had very much disliked the idea of being anywhere near the Scout that night.

"Y'alright, mate?" He responded, not awaiting an answer, as he walked directly past the texan and towards the canteen. The only other person who would be up this early was Soldier, and the sniper was on a mission to find him.

The common areas were almost empty. The demoman was snoring loudly on the sofa, surrounded by a significant amount of empty bottles and cigarette butts. Sniper marched past him and arrived at the mess hall to find the soldier sipping a cup of coffee next to the window. He noticed Sniper approaching, and immediately straightened himself to attention.

"Good to see you up at this hour, private," he all but shouted, raising his mug in praise.

"Yeah, well, wanted to chat to ya' actually," Sniper replied, reaching to his chest to remove a cigarette from his jacket pocket, before remembering the article of clothing was still in the possession of Scout, "I uh… was wondering what we were going to do with the captive?"

He was thankful for Soldier's lack of understanding when it came to more subtle social implications, otherwise it would be screamingly obvious how anxious Sniper clearly was about the boy's wellbeing.

"Ah yes. well, we're gonna kill him." Soldier gave an insouciant smile.

Sniper tried not to flinch. "You mean, on the battlefield or…?"

He swallowed a mouthful of black coffee. "No, away from respawn, of course. Doctor's not interested in him, and we certainly have no use for him in the base." He said with a powerful voice. "Not entirely sure what you were thinking, bringing him back here after all... But, one less scout to worry about, 'eh? We'll finish him tomorrow." He clapped a large hand on Sniper's arm and marched past the taller man, retreating back to the common room.

Sniper could feel himself heat up, sweaty hands clung to his shirt as he turned. "Soldier!"

"Yes, lad?" He called back, mug to his lips.

"Could… could I be the one. To kill him, I mean," he said nervously- he knew he was pushing boundaries now.

The soldier stared at him solidly, his brow furrowed slightly, and Sniper could feel himself burn with both panic and dread. He tried to remain nonchalant, leaning against the counter.

"If you'd like." Was all the soldier said, looking at Sniper with skeptical eyes. He left briskly.

The need for a cigarette had intensified, and Sniper closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his face. He had half expected this outcome, but couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sting of fear trail down his spine. He had a plan, but it was risky. Very risky. He kept asking himself if it was worth it. After all, scout's were disposable. They weren't a phenomenal asset to a team, and were easily replaced. Young and inexperienced as they were, it wasn't difficult to find others with the same adequacy. And yet, Sniper couldn't let the issue go. It wasn't like the boy had snuck into the base, or committed an offence directly against the Red team. It was his fault the Scout was in this situation, and the boy's death would be entirely down to his own selfishness. He had to help him escape.

 

He arrived outside the Spy's door, and hesitated to knock. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to accomplish what he was intending on doing, but he didn't have a lot of time left. Raising a hand, he knocked impatiently. A heavy clicking sound was heard, and the door opened slightly to reveal Spy's balaclava'd face.

"Yes? What is it you want, Sniper?" He spoke fluidly, opening the door fully on realisation that it was the Australian outside his door and not the vexatious Red scout.

"Can I come in?"

The frenchman stepped aside and allowed Sniper entry. The man was fully dressed, apart from his suit jacket, but resumed straightening his tie in front of the mirror as he watched the sniper walk over to the desk in the reflection.

"Has Medic spoken to you?" Sniper piped up, fiddling leisurely with a pen that had been resting on the desk's surface.

The spy brushed his hands down his shirt front and proceeded to remove a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He casually lit one, and inhaled deeply. Sniper watched him carefully- his lack of response led to worry.

"Non. Should he have?" The spy breathed casually, allowing the smoke to billow from his lips.

"Well, no, I was just… just asking- can I?" He extended a hand expectantly at the packet of cigarettes in the spy's hand.

Eyebrows cocked, he paused for a moment, looking down at the Sniper's hand. Slowly, turning his gaze to the Australian's expression, he handed him a cigarette as well as the lighter in his pocket. "Sniper, not to seem.. brusque, but what is this about?" He removed the cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash into the metallic bin by the door.

The sniper inserted one into his mouth, pursing it in his lips as he lit the end. He didn't dare make eye contact with the spy, he was terrified the truth would just blurt out. He took his time lighting the stick, taking a few lung-full's of smoke. So the Medic hadn't said anything to the others; that didn't mean he was in the clear. If it had been obvious to the German, it'd have likely been just as obvious to the spy- what with his expertise lying in the ability to pick up such subtleties. His gaze travelled back to the desk, and he noticed something golden and shining beneath a bundle of scattered sheets of paper.

"I woke up early. Just been kinda' bored down there in the common room on my own." It was a blatant lie, but the Sniper's attention was too distracted to have come up with a better excuse. He moved lazily closer to the desk, leaning across it on one arm.

"I see." The spy paced over to where his suit jacket was hung neatly on a dresser door, and began unbuttoning it. Sniper took this as an opportunity, and let his hand slide across the paperwork. "I have to say, it ees not like you to be up before drill," Spy continued.

Sniper muttered something incoherent, his hand slipped beneath the sheets of A4 and touched something cold and metallic.

"Tell me, it would not have something to do with that Blu you and the Demoman brought back yesterday, would it?"

He hadn't been paying attention. His hand folded around the small object and he brought it swiftly to his trouser pocket. He turned his head away to the window, as composed as he could manage.

"Sniper?" The spy had turned, shifting his jacket over his shoulders.

"Huh? Yeah, I should probably leave ya to it…" he nodded with a courteous smile, and turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

The spy watched him turn, hands casually in his pockets. A gentle frown adorned his expression. "Before you leave, could I have my Dead Ringer back?"

The sniper froze in his steps, and slowly looked over his shoulder to his teammate. Had it really been that obvious? In all fairness, he hadn't expected to get very far. After all, he was stealing from a spy.

"'Onestly, chéri, I thought sneaking through o'zer peoples possessions was my profession?" He extended a patient hand to the sniper, who removed the golden clock from his pocket and placed it in the spy's palm.

Sniper laughed uncomfortably, "sorry, mate. Shoulda' known better…"

The spy hmm'd, returning the golden clock safely into a desk drawer. His icy glare returned to the Sniper, and he folded his arms sternly across his chest, leaning back against the desk chair. "What ees this about?"

Sniper couldn't hold the glare, and turned his focus to the map on the back wall. He shrugged his shoulders briefly, letting his hands slip into his pockets. "Seriously, mate, it's nothing." He was fully aware that the obstinate behaviour was a lost cause.

The Spy frowned, darker now, his jaw tensing as he gritted his teeth. "Don't fuck with me, Sniper, I don't much care for it…"

He paused for one last endeavour of tenacity; but sighed, bringing his hand to his face as he removed his sunglasses. It was hard to see out of them in this lighting anyway. He moved over to the bed and dropped himself onto the hard mattress. So much for professionalism, he couldn't help but think to himself. "I just…" the words wouldn't seem to come out. He wasn't sure just how he was going to go about admitting to this. He groaned, leaning onto his lap. "I…" His tounge was fighting against him.

The spy continued watching him, a slight frown permanently adorned his expression. "You're trying to help that boy escape, aren't you?" His tone was low, threatening. Like he was muttering a curse.

Sniper glanced up, opened his mouth a couple of times, before closing it again. "Yes." He finally managed to murmur.

"Salaud!" He snapped, barely a moment after the word had passed the Snipers lips. He pushed himself away from the chair, taking a long, aggressive drag from his cigarette. "You know ze rules, this ees a fucking war. You heard what 'appened to zat soldier and demo, you don't fraternise with ze odder team, do you have any idea how much shit you are putting yourself in just thinking of doing thees?" He was pacing now, throwing his hands and gestures at the Sniper as he spoke.

He couldn't help but take note of how much stronger Spy's accent became when he was pissed. He returned the cigarette to his mouth, only to realise that most of it had burnt away in his hand while he had been sitting there. "What can I say…?" He looked up once more, eyes somewhat pleading. He genuinely didn't know.

The spy scowled, a hint of repulsion on his expression. He, of all people, was a devout abider to that particular regulation. He hardly fraternised with anybody, let alone Blu's. He just couldn't understand how anybody could be so completely uncontrolled of their emotions. "If the Administrator finds out-"

"She won't find out." He couldn't suppress the growl in his voice. "I have this figured out. The only people who know are you and the Doctor."

"The Medic knows? Putain de merde…" he angrily stamped the cigarette butt out into the table ashtray.

The Sniper rose from the bed, doing the same for his own cigarette. "He won't say anything. I just need to borrow your Dead Ringer. Only for when I kill him… I'll carry the projection away, the kid'll follow, and I'll let 'im go. Nobody'll be the wiser." He shifted the sunglasses back onto his face, as if the tiny layer of glass would protect him from the Spy's tempestuous scowl.

Spy was still entirely unsatisfied with this risky and flawed plan, and what's worse, if anybody were to find out, the Dead Ringer would be immediately traced back to him. He was putting himself in danger. But the Sniper's quietly soft, confident demeanour near about made him believe it was achievable. "If anybody asks," he slotted another cigarette into his mouth. He already smoked like a chimney, but Spy knew today it'd be more like a forest-fire. "…You succeeded in stealing it from me." He made a humoured snort, like the very idea seemed impossible to the point of laughable.

The Sniper smiled gently. He and Spy rarely agreed on anything. Their individual ideologies was responsible for not only classifying them both into the Support class, but had them sparring almost continuously in their free time. Their turbulent relationship was not one to admire, but at the same time, it was affectionate. They admired one another almost as much as they were confused by one another. "Thanks, mate…"

"Yes, well…" Spy turned to the mirror once more, buttoning his jacket. He wasn't sure whether it was down to his mild affection for the Sniper, or the tiny sting in his heart when he pictured her face on the realisation of her son's death. Either way, he was involved now. "Don't fuck up."

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 8.  
> Updates to be made once a week, perhaps more frequently.  
> As you may or may not have noticed, I've changed/created certain aspects to the gameplay so that it coincides with a real-life kind of situation. Depending on the response, I'll see how much of this I can get posted.  
> That's it, that's my input, no more notes- enjoy!


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